Just a Game
by C.K.isback
Summary: Philla Ellwood was a completely normal girl. She had a loving mother, great friends, and a life that she felt was more than adequate. That is, until she was Reaped along with her best friend. After that, it was anything but the norm.
1. Let the Games Begin

**My first fanfic, but you don't need to be nice. This is the 98th Hunger Games, the Rebellion failed. Peeta has died from old age, but Katniss is still mentoring children. This is the story of one of them. Please review. I enjoy every one of them, even the simple ones. **

**~C.K.**

"It's beautiful, Philla."

The flame's shadows dance across my mother's taught cheekbones, casting dark shadows under her eyebrows. It turns her eyes into dark, lifeless holes. But she is smiling. This is all I care about.

I watch for a moment longer as the flames gently lick up the sides of the perfectly whittled mocking jay. I wait for a moment longer until the wood is slightly burned, giving it an ancient look, then blow it out. Orangey-red embers fly away from the carving, swirling down to the floor and settling on the dirt. I stamp them out with my boots.

I scoop up the little bird in the palm of my hand and savor the lingering the warmth until it disappears. My mother's smile fades away also, now that my creation is complete. I try to savor that, too.

Granted, the past month or so had not been easier for her. The miscarriage of my soon to be brother and sister had sent her into a withdrawn depression. She had always wanted children when she was sure she could provide a good life for them. She had never forgave herself for having me at sixteen.

But fifteen years later she had me and my little brother Kona, who had only just turned three. She had my father who, though he was usually in the mines, loved her unconditionally. She had a life in front of her, one that couldn't be put on hold. Not if we all wanted to survive.

I just had to keep trying, and I knew I would get it. The magic trigger that would coax her out of her depression like a snake from a basket.

My fire carvings were a favorite of hers to watch. I had started making them when I was twelve to calm my always-frayed nerves, until it was something I did whenever I felt even slightly panicked. They were my drug.

At first they were of trivial things; flowers and buttons and other miscellaneous items. But then I started to carve out my feelings. It made me feel better, like I was taking a piece of my own worries or desperate dreams and carving them out of my heart with my dulled knife, leaving peace in its place. The fire was captivating, too. Sometimes, when I had spare money, I would scrape together enough to buy synthetic fire, just to watch my little figurines flicker in the glow. It soothed me.

There was a sharp knock on the door, two taps and one booming punch that made the door rattle in its frame. Rome.

Rome was my best friend since birth. Our mothers had been friends at the time we were born, and had lumped us together as baby's just so they could gossip and be together. I literally grew up with him by my side.

I open the door with a grin. "Hey," I say.

"Hey yourself, Philly," he says back, a wry smile on his face. He strides in and sits next to my mother, saying hello and asking how she's feeling.

That was the nice thing about Rome. He always tried to put the feelings of others into life's equation.

I plop down next to him. "So what's up?"

He smiles and settles down on the couch, work clothes leaving a slight inky smudge on the back. It doesn't matter, though. Our couch is already extremely filthy, seeing as it hadn't been replaced in over fifteen years.

"Just thought you might like to join me in some pre-Reaping festivities?" he asked, grinning. Sure, he was lucky. This was his second to last Reaping. He was nearly free.

But my stomach squirms at the thought of all the little pieces of paper he had filled out in his careful, ordered handwriting. Fourty chances to be sent to his death. I clutch my wooden bird tight. The odds aren't that bad, I tell myself.

I'm better off then him. Though I signed up for all the tesserae I could get, my total still only amount to twenty four. _It'll all be okay,_ I tell myself.

I need to get rid of my anxiety, so I smile and say, "Sure." But I turn to my mother anyways. "If it's okay with you?"

She nods and gives as small, sad smile. "You kids have fun. That's what this day is supposed to be all about, anyways." She gives a tiny shake of her head in a disbelieving sort of way, then sends us off.

Rome's cheeriness wears away as he takes a last look at my mom before the door swings shut. It turns to worry.

"So she's not getting any better," he asks. Genuine care is in his eyes.

I shake my head. "Nothing works." I take out my little bird. "She liked this one, though."

He grins at the sight of it, then fishes around in his pocket, drawing out his own little carving I had made for him when I was twelve. It was a crudely shaped fish with "Rome" carved into it. It was meant to represent his old job as a fishermen, but it ended up looking like a boxy vase. I still blushed when I saw the awfulness of it, but it made me happy that he carried it with him wherever he went.

"Mine's still the best." He pockets it, then brings out something else. His tone becomes hushed, a sort of awed reverence seeping into his voice.

"Just got this one yesterday. Beautiful, right?"

Rome was now not only a miner, but a jeweler's apprentice. Every day he walked five miles up to the merchant class area to study how to craft impossibly beautiful things inlaid with beautiful jewels.

The one he held in his hand was a deep ocean blue, the color of my mother's eyes. It was sparkling and smooth. He dropped it into my hand, and I studied it for a moment.

"Pretty," I said. "But mine's still the best." I grab the cold metal chain of my necklace and pull it out of my blouse. It drops down to almost my waist, where I pick it up to admire it.

There is only one jewel on the twisted silver chain, but an impossibly beautiful one. It was a deep, brownish-orange and the size of a robin's egg, crafted into a perfect teardrop shape that hung glistening from the chain.

Rome had given it to me as a gift on my fourteenth birthday. The gem wasn't really one at all, but amber. Not the most appealing, since it wasn't of extreme value or an extravagant color.

I loved it, though. You could tell that Rome spent days, maybe even weeks, working on making it absolutely perfect. It was my favorite possession.

He grins at my remark, the starts to stride toward the main street. I try my best to keep up with his long strides.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"Hiram's. My treat."

Hiram's was a grubby pub on the side of the street that served kids. It was a favorite of ours; not for the food, but for people watching. You got a lot of extremely shady people in Hiram's. We couldn't always afford their prices, though.

"Where'd you get the money," I ask.

He leans forward and grins, flashing the again stone. "Charmed a Capitol girl out of it. I only gave her a couple coins for it; the real value is much, much more."

With a scowl, I pushed him down into the dust.

"What was that for?" he yells playfully, feigning ignorance. He tries to get up and I push him down again.

"You told me you would stop manipulating visitors!" I say, scowling harder, but not enough to hide my blossoming smile.

"I said maybe," he clarifies. "And I got a special discount for being the "handsomest poor person she'd ever seen", to put it in her own words."

It is true that Rome was handsome, with his straight nose; tan skin; and dark, cropped hair, but he looked like many boys from The Seam. His eyes were the uniform stormy grey, though they had nearly translucent green flecks in them.

I look nothing like him. With my reddish-blond hair, freckled nose, and hazel eyes, I look nothing like a Seam girl. The looks come from my father, who ued to live in District 10.

I rolled my eyes at The Capitol girl's ignorance. Then again, most of them were that way. I couldn't really blame Rome; he had so many siblings at home, he needed the money much more than the silly, spoiled girl he took it from.

"Come on Philly," he pleads. "Lunch is all on me."

I leave him behind, still brushing off dirt and dust, as I walk toward the pub. "I'm getting a milkshake, then," I say, not turning back.

He catches up with me at the doorway, pushing it open for me. We both duck our heads and peer inside.

**Sorry the ending is so abrupt, but I didn't want it to be that long. Please review. The little button is right there...**


	2. Perfect for Reaping

**Okay, so I realize that I probably chose the most unpopular type of fanfiction, so I don't excpect many reviews. But if you read it, I'd love constructive critism on my writing. I want to get better. Thanks!**

**~C.K.**

Hiram's consists of one lone room, which is nearly always crowded, dank, and dark; even at ten in the morning. It is full of sleeping men who had stayed there the night after some heavy drinking. They lay across bar stools and the dirty table, nearly all of them snoring.

We grab a little table near the window, which Rome cleans off a bit to let in more sunlight. Ronare Hiram, the owner and sole operator of Hiram's, waddles over to take our orders. His eyebrows are so bushy that I can barely see his glittering black eyes, and he has a substantial amount of ear hair. His wrinkled face looking especially worn out today.

"What kin I git you?" he asks in a rumbling voice, pen poised on his notebook.

I don't even need to consult the menu to know what I want. "A bowl of stew please." I remember what I said to Rome. "And a milk shake."

He nods and turns to Rome, who is grinning and rubbing the stone between his fingers. "Most expensive item on the menu, please." He winks at me as Hiram walks away.

I roll my eyes. "Must you act like that?"

He looks genuinely confused - the smug mask drops from his face. "Like what?"

"Like you're the most important person in the world." I roll my eyes and drum my fingers on the table. Rome often acted like this in front of others he didn't know well. Like his true self wasn't good enough.

He laughs bitterly. "I know I'm not. My tesserae is enough to tell anyone that."

Fifty three slips of his were swishing around in the glass ball. I will them all to go to the corners, far away from the groping hands that would steal one person's future away.

I only had twenty four, since my parents got by well enough. I didn't need as much tesserae as Rome's family.

"It'll be okay," I say. I am greeted with silence.

Rome glares at the rotting wooden table for a minute, cursing his own misfortune. The drinks and food are brought out, and he asks, "What are you wearing for The Reaping?"

I'm not surprised. Rome often changes the subject when he feels things get too tense. "I don't know," I admitted. I had never been one to think about what I wear, seeing as I don't have a wide selection of clothes to choose from. "My mother was making a dress a while back, but I doubt she ever finished it."

My mother had been a seamstress before she fell ill, and a good one too. She had made all of my Reaping dresses, each one more beautiful then the last, despite the fact that we did not have money for fine materials.

He nods. "The one you wore last year was pretty. You don't need a new one."

I smile a bit and spoon some soup into my mouth to keep from talking.

We finish are food and part our ways to get ready for the Reaping.

"And may the odds," I said, using an old phrase coined in District Twelve.

"Be ever in your favor," Rome says, grinning. He turns down a dusty street toward his house.

I go to my own house, passing several people as I walk by. I knew most from The Seam, seeing as we relied on each other for many things. The only person I didn't say hello to was the only one I didn't know from The Seam.

Our very own Mockingjay. The Girl on Fire. Katniss Everdeen.

She could usually be seen stomping through the streets in The Seam, a stern expression on her face, her gray hair pulled back into a tight braid. Despite her age, she had only a few wrinkles. Her skin was stretched taut across her face.

She had gone a bit cross the older she got. I assumed that was The Games fault. I had seen the terrible things they had done to the victors. She had gotten away unscathed, more or less.

Though I would never admit this to anyone, I admired her. So much, in fact, that most of my carvings were Mockinjays. Whenever I burned them, I thought about her, The Girl on Fire. Her rebellion. I wished she had succeeded for more than three years, kept The Games from returning. My life would be so much more different, I was sure of it.

Despite my awe, my hello always gets stuck in my throat. I just stare, though she never really meets my eyes. She's always looking ahead, making her seem like she has much more important things to attend to.

I turn away from her and enter my house, a low-lying little building painted a lemon yellow that had dulled considerably over the years. I loved it anyways.

"Mom," I call, peering into the kitchen. "The Reaping's in an hour."

My mother is sitting at the counter, slicing a tomato from our garden. She takes out a loaf of bread and cuts it into slices, putting a sliver of tomato on each. She nods at my remark, but I doubt she heard me.

"We need to get Koma ready," I say. "And I need my Reaping clothes."

Her face lights up at the mention of Reaping clothes. "I have a surprise," she says, shuffling into the bedroom. She reaches under the bed and pulls out a beat-up box.

"I finished it while you were out. All it needed was a hem." She pushes the box into my hands.

Could it really be? I lift the lid carefully and peer inside. A dress the color of fresh cream is nestled in wrappings, dark maroon bow glinting in the dim lighting. I pull in out of the box. It is even more beautiful then I had remembered.

"I can't believe you finished it," I breathe, brushing a mothball of the color. "Can I put it on now?"

She smiles, looking a teeny bit sad. "Take a bath first. Then you can put it on."

I run to the tub and scrub myself free of the dirt, grime, and ash that had collected over the day until I'm clean. Then I slip into my new dress.

Mother smiles and runs her finger through my hair, massaging my scalp until it's dry. Then she pulls back the front pieces and wraps them into a bow that matches the color of the one on the dress.

"Philla," she says, at a loss for words.

I look at my reflection in the cracked and dusty mirror, not really believing it was me. The girl that stares back at me is clean and rose cheeked, hair glowing blond in its ribbon and dress hugging her slim curves.

I certainly feel beautiful, but it doesn't really feel like me. I would much rather be in my work clothes, carving away at a block of wood, impossibly dirty. The girl in the mirror looked like a Town girl, impeccably perfect.

Perfect for being Reaped.

My stomach plummets, but I try to keep myself calm. _Be strong_, I voice whispers in the back of my mind. I had to be, for my whole family, but especially for my mother.

"Thanks, Mom," I say, turning away from the mirror. I was still me. I was okay. Everything's okay.

I help her squeeze a struggling Kona into his best pair of clothes, then wake lay out my father's clothes before he gets back from his work at the mines. Everything is ready. In thirty minutes, we all head out the door and into the square.

Rome and his family meets us there. He is carrying his struggling little brother, who is screaming, "I don't wanna, I don't wanna!" and punching Rome with his little fist. Rome rolls his eyes, and I give a knowing smile. His sisters hug me and wish me luck. It is Girdy's first reaping, and she is pale and white in her ragged red dress. I cling to her and tell her it'll all be okay.

Rome, Girdy, and I break off from the rest of the family and go to our assigned circles. Girdy clings tight to my hand until we get to her circle. "You'll be fine," I tell her. She smiles weakly.

I leave her and go to my own circle, where I stand with about ten other girls. One from my class smiles at me, but I can't manage one back. I feel like I am going to throw up, just like I do before every Reaping.

_I am strong. I am brave. I can do this._

I repeat this to myself over and over, till the words lose meaning and become a jumble of strange noises. The Mayor and representative take their places on the stage, and the cameras train on them.

The Reaping has begun.


	3. Always

Our old representative succumbed to a nasty bout of flu last year, so they've sent in a new one. She has mousy features, unable to hide despite her many layers of glitter that coat her body, making her glisten in the dim sunlight. She reminds me off the chain on the necklace, twisting and sparkling in an fidgety sort of way. My hand guides to my neck on it's own accord. I clutch the chain, finding the teardrop pendant. Her eyes, strangely big, match it's color.

Pendant twists her hair nervously between her fingers, braiding and unbraiding, over and over. I can tell she is young, despite the glitter. She couldn't be older than thirty.

Our mayor, Mr. Lerner, announces her name on the stage in a falsely cheery voice, which doesn't mask the deep worry lurking underneath. I do not hear what he says.

Pendant grips the podium as if it is her lifeline. Under the sparkles, I'm sure her skin would be a faint green color. She swallows loudly, the sound reverberating through the mic, and speaks in a quivering voice,

"Hello, and welcome to The Reaping off the Ninety eighth Hunger Games. As you know, Mr. Herbert passed away unexpectedly this year, and I will be taking his place." She pauses and glances hopefully at us, only to be met by silence. She swallows again and continues.

"One girl and one boy will be chosen to represent District Twelve, and will have the honor of participating in the Hunger Games." More silence. In District Two they would be cheering at this point.

Pendant looks like she wishes she was there, but she still stumbles on. "So - er - let's choose the names." She turns from the stoic crowd quickly, fumbling around in the girl's bowl. I draw my breath, closing my eyes again. I hear the name light-years before it comes from her lips.

"Philla Ellwood."

I feel nothing as I climb the steps up to the stage. Just utter numbness, my blank brain not even beginning to process what just happened. But fear was there, tearing through my insides, eating up any sense of hope I had.

Only one face stands out in the sea of people. Rome looks at me with heavy eyes, and even from far away, I can just make him mouthing out the words, "_I'll protect you_."

The first pang of real emotion strikes my heart. Not for myself, but for Rome. He mustn't do what I know he will. He mustn't.

I try not to look as Pendant fumbles around in the other bowl, drawing out a thin scrap of paper that condemned not only Rome, but me.

"_Jaring Partridge." _

A small boy walks clumsily up the stairs, looking just as blank as I had felt moments before. He takes his place beside me. I can hear his breathing, as quick and startled as prey suspecting death.

With one long look at me, Rome walks forward, until he's looking directly up at Pendant and her podium.

"I volunteer to replace him," he says, no hesitation entering his voice. Our audience breathes in a collective gasp. He passes the boy on his way up, ignoring the wide-eyed stare of relief he gives him.

"Always," he whispers solemnly to me, pressing my ridiculous fish carving into my palm. To anyone else, it would look like we were simply holding hands.

It took me a moment to respond, my thoughts still oddly numb, a slate whipped clean of everything.

But then I undid the clasp of my necklace, sliding the smoothly set rock into his own. "Always," I say back, quietly enough so that no one but us can here.

I can see ourselves replicated on the screen, hands knotted together as if they were permanently set like that, the silver chain of my necklace swinging slowly in between them, looking like a noose hanging from a tree. I let go of his hand, rubbing the stone in between my fingers, losing myself in the feeling of my skin gliding effortlessly on the rock.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Pendant says with some mustered bravado, "your Ninety Eighth Hunger Games Tributes."

No one claps. No one even seems to breath. They knew that Rome and I were a set package, we had talked about it so much, but seeing us up there on the stage in reality, shoulders brushing and faces white, I have a feeling that none of imagined that it would really happen to us, nor did they went to think about it.

I seek out my mother and father's face, unsurprised to see them both sunken in with sorrow, making them look decades older. There hands are clasped around Kona's. He hangs onto them limply, his blue eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. I know that he is too young to understand, but I sensed that he knew the worst was yet to come.

I didn't realize I was crying till a hot tear dripped onto my neck and slithered under my shirt. I told myself to stop, that crying wouldn't solve anything, but they only flowed thicker and faster.

_I am strong. I am brave. I can do this. _

But I know my words are a lie. It makes me sad to know that the only person I can lie to is myself.

I choke out a sob, and Rome looks down at me and grabs my hand again, not out of ritual, but out of friendship. His eyes show the tenderness that I saw from as far back as I can remember, the kind of unconditional love that he gives to everyone. He is the selfless one. He is the survivor.

And I promise right then that I will do whatever it takes to help Rome win, even if it means not giving up, staying till the end to give him strength until he no longer needs it.

_I'll protect _you, I think.


	4. Getting Ready

**Thanks to piepin for the review. You're awesome! Next chapter is sorta filler, so hang with me. **

My brain only restarted after everyone had filed out of the main square, the mayor had gotten off the stage and headed back home, and only Rome, Pendant, and I were left alone in the dirty square. Even then, I could only think about the future, dwelling on the extremely realistic images it conjured up for my viewing.

Pendant seemed much more relaxed now that the crowds had left. She breathes a sigh of relief and sits heavily in the rickety wooden chair next to us. Rome still hasn't let go of my hand, for which I am thankful.

Pendant daps a thick serum, looking almost like glue, on her forehead, giving a few extra puffs before she looks up at us with her yellow pendant eyes.

She smiles, still shaky. "Yes, well, I'm Hauna Gridley, if you didn't catch that. I'll be your representative for this year's Games." She doesn't look too excited about being assigned 12, that's for sure. Next to me, Rome tightens his grip, and I can tell that he's trying to mask his anger under a smooth blank façade. I squeeze back. For a moment, I'm glad he's with me. Then I remind myself that one of us, maybe both, will be dead by next week.

Hauna fiddles with her hair for another moment, until she looks up and says, "Um, we'll give you a moment to say…goodbye. And gather a few things." She hands both of us thin mess bags. "Anything that can fit in here and isn't a weapon or food is fine."

Gale immediately drops my carving into the bottom, and I watch as the bag slowly revolves back in forth.

Rome lets go of my hand and starts to walk off the stage. I follow, tripping down the steps. Hauna calls after us, "Be back before sundown!" We both ignore her.

I know that Rome is waiting until we're alone to talk, and so am I. I walk beside him until we reach the divide of our streets, far away from Hauna and her jittery personality.

As I look into Rome's face, so decisive, so set in stone, I start to become angry. It doesn't matter if we promised to be friends always, he shouldn't have done that. He took away my last piece of mind.

"Why?" I hiss at him, wringing the neck of my mesh bag, and keeping my eyes focusing on his unwaveringly. This always made him uncomfortable, ever since he told me that my eyes when I'm mad look like a hawks. He shifts his gaze to his own bag, but doesn't change his expression.

"Because I keep my promises," he said, voice hard. His gaze flickers up for a moment. "We'll get through this together, Philla. We always talked about it being this way."

I to remember sitting next to the television with him, as young as four, chewing my fingernails, but not dare cheering on the 12 tributes. They always died in the first few days, if not the bloodbath. It hurt too much to give them hope, even if they couldn't hear me. But we were going to survive, we told each other. We would do it together.

"It was stupid, Rome," I yell back at him, my emotions and thoughts finally fully returning to me, coming back in a flood of anger. I draw myself up on my toes and try my best to keep eye-level. "You think it's just some game, don't you? Do you think they doctor it up for your enjoyment? No! Everything is _real_ and we don't stand a chance against any of the other tributes! They've been trained since they were _born!_ And what are we? Nothing. We have families, Rome. Did you think about them?"

I know I hit him where it most hurt. His face breaks free from the mask, revealing hurt and pain. At once I feel guilty, but I push it down.

"Well?" I ask.

He just shakes his head, seeming unable to think of the words I knew he wanted desperately to scream at me. He swallows, and looks away.

"I know, Philla. That's why I didn't want you to be alone."

The guilt comes back, and I know I can't get rid of it, since it's righteous and true.

"Come on, let's get our stuff," I mutter. "Before Hauna has a nervous breakdown."

He flashes a small smile, then goes to his house, where he is immediately greeted by his sobbing family, who grab at him and yank him inside.

My family is less flamboyant about there grief. When I enter the house, the kitchen is empty, but I can hear them sobbing in the adjoining room.

As I walk in, they all look up. Mama is crying into her hands, her tear-streaked face looking crumpled with grief. Kona is crying because he sees Mama crying, and my father has a secure hand around his waist to make sure he doesn't fall off the bed.

Mama flies up and hugs me tightly, stroking my hair. She sits me down on the bed and onto her lap, making me feel like a child again.

"Philla, Philla, Philla," she croons in between sobs, still petting my hair. "You're so brave, baby, so brave."

I didn't feel brave, but her words made me want to be. So I rest my hand on top of hers. "It's okay Mama. It's okay." I put my other on Kona's shoulder. "It's okay, Kona. You don't have to cry."

He stops immediately, nestling into the crook of my arm. "Philly," he says, smiling. I try my best to smile back.

This makes Mama cry harder, snatching Kona and hugging him too.

"Dad?" I ask hesitantly. He looks up, face still stoic. "Can I talk to you in private?"

He gets up, and I stand up with him. Mom doesn't seem to notice. She's still clutching Kona and crying.

He closes the door behind him, then looks at me, waiting, his own hawk eyes wary.

I match his gaze. "I'm not coming back."

His face doesn't change. "I know."

"Rome has to win."

"I know."

His answer's were making me frustrated. "It's the only way!"

He takes my hand and squeezes, and there's a look in his eyes that I've never seen before. He leans forward until our faces are level.

"I know, Philla," he whispers, kissing my forehead. "But look out for yourself." I look up in confusion. "These things sometimes work out in ways you would never expect." There's a glint in his eyes as he takes the bag out of my limp hands and examines it.

"Why don't you go pack? I'll stay with your mother." He gives me a long look, then turns on his heels and strides through the door.

A tear drops from my eye and slithers down my cheek, but I don't cry anymore. His words make me feel stronger, somehow.

I root through the house, looking for the few prized positions I have. A picture of me and Rome from when we were little, my grandmother's red silk scarf from the Capitol, an old, long feather that my father gave me, and a royal blue stone that Rome had told me he would put on a chain for me one day.

The bag is still half empty, but I can't think of anything else that matters, so I say my last goodbye's, accept the hugs, and walk to the street, where Rome's already waiting for me.

"Ready?" he asks.

I shake my head. "But do I really have a choice?"

He contemplates that for a moment, but doesn't say anything. We head down the street in silence.


	5. The Mockingjay

**Hey guys! I haven't updated because I've been on a school retreat. I'm so sore...6 mile canoeing, bike riding, hiking. It was pretty physically demanding. Anyways, here's the next chapter. Again, piepin, you're awesome. **

**This is a long chapter, but it's pretty good, in my own opinion. Edited late last night, so excuse some of the mistakes. :) Disclaimer: A teenage girl didn't write the Hunger Games, so I'm unfortunately not the author. So sad. **

Our mentor couldn't attend the ceremony, since she was visiting another District, but I already knew who she is. I even recognize her face as she climbs onto the train, limbs creaking as she clutches to the stair rail.

Katniss Everdeen.

The one who tried to save us from the Capitol. I remember learning about her in our history class, seeing her face as she hobbles through 12, and even saying hello to her once, when I was very little and had just learned about her in class.

It had been a very quiet, shy hello, since I wasn't very outgoing, and didn't know how to make friends, since I had had Rome since birth. I remember that my hair was not pulled back that day, and my choppy kindergarten bangs were hanging in my face. But I had recognized her. I even got a little bit excited looking at the slightly wrinkled face, the deep gray eyes and tied back hair.

She had swiveled her head around like an owl and stared at me, not saying anything, just nodding curtly and continuing on. Despite her age, she carried herself with a pride and power that I admired. I desperately wanted to be like her.

And here she was in front of me, destined to help me through the Games, to show me how to survive.

And for the second time in my life, I said hello to her.

Her reaction was the same. A stiff nod. More like a jerk of her head, making her long gray braid bob out of place for a moment.

Rome greeted her, and again she nodded silently. Hauna tried her best to smile and help her up the steps, but Katniss ignored her. I expect she is sour about the games, since she herself had worked so hard to eradicate them, only to have them come back only a few years later to haunt her.

"Well, you'll have much time to chat with are tributes later," she says to Katniss, her voice containing the false cheeriness that one might use when talking to a child. "But for now we need to eat!"

I am not hungry, The Reaping has taken away my appetite. But I am forced to eat as we sat down at the elegant dining table, Rome on my one side, Katniss on the other.

The train gives a horrible lurch, causing the plates to slide a little, then takes off like a rocket. I don't know how fast we were going, only that it was leading us straight to death.

The thought makes me even more queasy, and I try to swallow a few bites of what looks like roasted pig, only to have it settle uncomfortably in my stomach, where I can feel it sloshing around. The food is all too rich, too much. The excess makes me feel dirty, when I imagine my family at home eating whatever they could put on the table. They, nor I myself, have ever had anything so extravagant.

I wash it down with a glass of water I have to request, and am given more than a few looks when I ask for it. It doesn't matter though. Despite all, the water is comforting.

Hauna smiles up at us anxiously, trying to gauge are reaction to the meal. She looks so ridiculous, covered from head to toe in glitter, but I can 't help but feel bad for her. So I smile thinly and take a tiny bite, swallowing it quickly.

Rome has recovered from the shock of The Reaping, and is slowly returning to his old self. He compliments Hauna on the "excellent" meal, then turns to Katniss.

"So," he says quietly. "Katniss Everdeen. The Girl who was on fire?"

She doesn't smile, but there's a spark in her eyes. "Yes. And you are?"

"Rome Fairing." He grabs my hand to get my attention. "And this is Philly."

I nod and smile again, trying not to look like an idiot. "Philla Ellwood." I let go of Rome's hand, but keep close to him. He gives me an encouraging look.

Katniss smiles a little at us. "You volunteered for the boy. Do you know him?"

Rome shakes his head. "I keep my promises, that's all," he's says vaguely, looking down at me.

Katniss looks at me head on for the first time, and I resist the feeling to shrink back into my chair. "You know each other?" she asks.

I nod and say yes.

Her smile looks a bit more genuine this time. "You remind me of Gale," she told Rome.

No one asks who Gale is. We've all heard of him sometime or the other. Rome's mother was his sister. From what I'd gathered, he'd been desperately in love with Katniss, but in the end was turned down. They had been best friends.

Katniss zero's in on Rome, and I know that she knows this too. She seems to be searching his face for some type of resemblance. All is quiet.

Hauna breaks the silence, clearing her throat and putting her fork down.

"Time for bed," she says, as if she was our mother. I follow the order anyways, too tired to ignore it.

Hauna gives us directions to our compartments, and Rome and I walk down together.

"Odd, isn't she?" I say, looking back at Katniss as she closes the door to her compartment. I open my own, and Rome and I both go in, flopping down on the bed.

He knows who I'm talking aboutnd gives a small smile. "I like her. She's straightforward." He props himself up on , ahis elbow, teeth glinting an eery white in the dim light. "Unlike some people."

I grimace at him, but I knew he is telling the truth. "I can be straightforward when I want to."

He laughs. "Oh, Hauna, the pig is absolutely delicious," he says in a high, squeaky voice.

I push him off the bed. "If you're going to act like that, you can leave." But the truth was, I didn't want him to. Rome was too good at distracting me from the horrors that lay ahead, and a distraction was exactly what I needed.

He sat back down, resting back on the headboard and closing his eyes. "I wonder what they're doing back home."

But Rome also knew what was important. I swallowed. "Probably watching the replay of The Reaping."

He opens his eyes at this and looks at me. "Philla…"

I blink back tears and grab the remote that's resting on the nightstand next to me, pressing a button so that the screen in front of us flickers to life.

"And we should be too," I say. "Get a look at the competition." But they weren't really competition, were they? Just conquerors, the victors. We didn't stand a chance against them.

Rome takes the remote out of my hand. "You sure?" he asks.

I bristle a bit, feeling weak, but I nod. "It's the best thing."

So he switches to the designated channel, where The Capitol's label rotates on the screen. A clock on the bottom of the screen tells us that the replay will begin in a minute.

I was a bit curious about seeing myself on T.V., I'll admit it. I wanted to see if I really looked as sick as I had felt, or if Rome had really been that adamant-looking as he volunteered.

The label rotates once more, then comes to a halt. The camera zooms in on it, revealing the words, "THE REAPING," hidden in the middle.

It starts with District 1, and ends with 13. The more wealthier districts had volunteers, while in poorer ones there was only silence. I only focus on the tributes faces. Most look petrified.

I hold my breath as the number 12 appears on the screen, and I see Hauna's hand shake for the second time as she pulls my name out of the bowl. Then, the moment I had been waiting for. I climb the steps, looking pale and scared, until I rise to the top. I'm surprised at how fragile I look, like a delicate figurine of glass. I was used to be called the tall, strong girl. The tough one.

Then the little boy's name is called, the one I had never really seen before in my life. He looks so tiny on the screen, even more breakable. I feel relief when he's allowed to exit the stage. I wish I'd said something to him.

Rome takes his place next to me, looking grave, but accepting. I watch as his lips mutter that one word, pressing his hand in mine. My own crying image whispers back, sliding the stone off the chain and pressing it into his hand.

A man's voice has been in the background the whole time, announcing the names and commenting on what's happening on the screen, but I had barely payed attention to him until now, when he remarks on our linked hands. I flush at how he notices, and will my recorded self to let go. She eventually does, brushing hair back behind her ears.

I watch mutely as 13's tributes emerge from the crowd, then finally the screens goes black again, revealing The Capitol's symbol. Then pictures start to fly on the screen, one district after another.

Only a few stand out. A big-boned boy with a grave-looking face, a girl no older than eighteen, a hand resting on the baby bump on her stomach, a skinny boy with a lazy eye and missing teeth, and a tiny girl with scared, wide eyes and short golden hair falling in waves down her back. Then Rome and I's pictures enter. Rome looks deadly serious, while I look almost crazed with fear. I look away till the screen goes black for the final time. Rome turns off the T.V.

He twists to gauge my reaction, but I don't say anything. I can't. I had never thought of myself as one of the unlucky children on the screen, but now, seeing it from an unfamiliar bed with a death sentence hanging over my head, it had all come crashing down, leaving me mute.

Rome puts a warm, rough hand on my knee. "Philla," he whispers. "It'll be okay. I promise. I'll keep you safe."

I shake my head and look up at him. "No," I say. "You can't. You have to take care of yourself. For me."

I expect him to object, but he remains silent, just staring. He leans in with a sort of hopeless look on his face, his fingernails digging into my knee, and I can feel his breath hot on my face. I try to look away. I can't.

He suddenly snaps back up, letting go of my knee and springing off the bed.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking at the television. "I just…I couldn't. I can't." He searches desperately for words, as if they'll suddenly drop on him from out of thin air. "We're…here," he says finally, striding toward the door and swinging it open. "Goodnight, Philla." Then he walks out.

I sit without moving for a few minutes, until my back starts to hurt, and I go to the programmed closet that hands me soft cotton pajamas. As I pull them on, I think of Katniss in the compartment next to us. How she must've felt during her first Hunger Games.

And as I climb into bed, I know what Rome means when he says, "We're here." That we never imagined in our lives what it would be like to be in The Games, and how our friendship would never be the same. Being here had changed us.

I tried not to be afraid of the morning to come, when we would have to leave the train and be taken by our stylists to be plucked and prettied, then presented to the world. I tried not think about the arena, or the other tributes. The image of scared-looking little girl entered my mind. She reminded me of the boy that Rome had volunteered for. Tiny. Vulnerable. But no one had helped her.

_Dead by next week_, my brain thinks numbly. I mechanically pull the covers over my head, only the darkness keeping me from screaming.

I fall asleep to my own Reaping replaying in my head, over and over, an endless

loop of fear, till I walk up the stairs to the stage and was met with nothingness.


	6. Primped and Plucked

**C.K. here: I'm not writing anymore of this story, but I felt like posting the stuff I had written before I stopped. This just isn't really the kind of thing I know people are interested in, even if I did have fun writing it.**

The next morning we are led into Katniss' compartment to speak to her about the Games before we got off the train and went to the hotel to be remade by the stylists.

She is dressed in a deep blue shirt and dark pants, her hair pulled back into her customary braid. Without even thinking about it, I have done my own hair the same way this morning. I run the tail of it through my fingers.

Katniss circles us as Rome and I stand side by side, eyeing us up and down. She occasionally makes noises, until she stops in front of us.

"You have the faces of survivors," is all she says, then she sits down on the couch, putting her twisted hands in her lap.

Morning's make me cranky, but also more outgoing. So it is because of that that I say, "So? How _do_ we survive?"

She smiles at me. "Hmm…" She stands up in front of us and begins pacing, her eyes looking as if she is focusing on something far away.

"You mustn't trust anyone but yourselves. They are all out to hurt you, in the end." She grimaces. "The traps are designed very creatively these days." She looks at us with intensity. "Not only will they physically hurt you, but they also have the power to psychologically harm you. Don't buy into the game." She looks at me. "Nothing is real in the Arena. Nothing."

Rome and I remain silent, and I think back to past Games. Beasts with the faces of humans, grotesque killings, traps designed to not only kill you, but do it with excessive gore. My breakfast pushed up into my throat as I thought of one boy who had lost his feet in a trap and was slowly eaten to death by wolves, unable to move. Mom had made me cover my eyes, but his animalistic screams still echoed in my ears.

Katniss' voice snaps me back into the present. "But for now, take it one step at a time. Get through the styling, do everything anyone says. Don't step out of line." She smiles wickedly at us. "They'll be plenty of that later."

And with that, she gestures us out of the compartment and off the train. We follow Hauna into the glittering city known as The Capitol.

It is more grand then I had ever pictured it. Everything looks like an edible dessert, all coated in baby blues and frosted pinks, sparkling with jewels and glitter.

The people are even more extravagant. There is hair every color under the sun, clothes that are three times as wide as the person themselves, and surgeries that transfigured their already comically-makeuped faces into masks of their former selves.

They all scare me, how fake they feel. Like their true selves have been left at the door long ago, maimed and virtually nonexistent.

Hauna leeds us to a sparkling yellow building fourteen stories high, informing us that this was the hotel where we would be staying for are last three nights, while we underwent training. We are corralled into an elevator.

The stylists room is on the top floor, composed entirely of plush pink furniture and plump pillows. The walls are the shade of a sunset's pink. I close my eyes to relieve myself from all the color.

Our prep team enters in a fluttering mess, reminding me of startled chickens as they moved about. Three of them grab my arms and lead me through a door into a much less pink room, all entirely made up of white marble.

They immediately rip off my clothes and hand me a robe that matched the color of the room, telling me I could put it on in a moment, after they examine me.

The tallest one, with whiskers like a cat and overly large eyes, introduces herself as Linia. "And this is Glamour and Frill." She points to a small looking women with pink corkscrew curls and a large number of tattoos, and a plump man dressed in a purple suit with a purple mustache that is about as long as one of my arms.

I finish taking off the last of my clothes, and they stare at me as if they are looking at a particularly interesting animal. There is a lot of nodding and strange noises on their part, while I try my best to cover myself. Glamour slaps my hands away from my chest.

"Now, now," she giggles, covering her mouth with her two-inch long nails. "We need to get a good look at _all_ of you!"

I let them hang at my sides reluctantly, then tell myself that Rome is having to do the same thing in the other room. Thinking about his reaction made me giggle, something I haven't done in a long time.

"That's the spirit!" Linia says, smiling wide through her bright pink lips. She pulls out something I had never seen before, looking like shiny paper. "But I'm warning you, pain is beauty." Then she puts it, along with hot wax, on my legs and pulls.

And this is how I spent the next two hours. Getting plucked and waxed and shaved till I am red and shiny. Then they finally fill the bath with some type of liquid lotion and let me sink in. It is hot and thick, and it gave off clouds of cloying perfume that make me feel sleepy.

The prep team gets me out, dries me off, and appraises the new, more hairless me.

"Very nice," says Frill, twirling his mustache. "Your eyes are definitely your best feature. We'll talk to Aniree about that."

"Let's go get her!" Linia says excitedly, grabbing their hands and running off into the next room. I breath a sigh of relief when they leave, only if it is just for a second.

They scare me. Not just because of their appearances or manor, but because they're considered actual human beings. They looked, acted, and thought nothing like me. They were absolute aliens.

I start to feel overly stressed, so I go to my clothes lying limp on the floor and search through them till I find my unfinished flowers and fake fire sticks. I line the carving up on the edge of the bathtub and light them one by one, watching the flames calmly lick them up, their mellowness relaxing me. I sink to the floor and watch them for a moment before taking an orchid and putting it in the palm of my hand, transfixed as the orange halo of flame dances around it.

Before I know it, they're back in the room, but this time they are led by an unfamiliar women. She shoos them away, then walks toward me.

She is shocking. Unlike the other's, she is not overboard on her surgeries (though she obviously has had some), but fairly simple, dressed in a white sundress, her brown and golden striped hair flowing behind her. She is quite normal except for her skin, which is tattooed with shining gold symbols, all tracing delicately around her body. The affect was actually radiant, instead of repellent.

She smiles genuinely at me. "You must be Philla." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Aniree, but you may call me Ani."

I try my best to smile back, and I take her hand. She walked around me gracefully, almost looking like she was floating. I forget to feel self-conscience.

She finally stops, then looks serenely. "Very beautiful," she says approvingly. "And they're right about your eyes."

I look down, away from her. I had never been called beautiful.

She had brought with her a book, and she lays it down in front of me, flipping quickly through it. "These are the costumes of past District 12 tributes," she says, not masking the distaste in her voice. "As you can see, they all are very…"

"Skimpy?" I supply. The miner outfits they were dressed in were, indeed, so revealing to the point where I felt embarrassed looking at them.

She nodded. "Very. This is the only one worth looking at." She flips to the back of the book, revealing a young Katniss, adorned in flames. "Cinna was a legend," she said, her voice taking on a dream-like quality.

She snaps the book shut and stands. "Of course, I do not want to steal the design of someone so well-known. I need to pave my own way in the fashion world." She sits me down on the edge of the tub. "Now, Philla, do you know about the miners in the olden days?" she asks.

I shake my head.

She smiles. "That's fine. I will tell you." She sits down next to me. "Long before the days of Panem, miner's used to be unsure whether the air in the mine was safe to work in. So they sent in a special songbird to test it." She smiles wider. "Canaries. If they kept singing, the miners knew it was safe. If they didn't…well, you know." She shrugs noncommittally and stands up, floating toward the closet. "You will be our canaries. Testing the Games."

And with a flourish, she opens the closet revealing our outfits with an ecstatic grin. "Now go get dressed."


	7. Lovebirds

**I cannot believe I have so much crap from this story that I never posted. It's amazing what my mind dregs up…Anyways, thanks anon reviewer for making my day a little brighter. I was NOT expecting a review, and only wanted to get this on fan fiction because it looked lonely in my documents. Thanks! Anyways, this is a biggun'.**

* As I stand in front of the full length mirror, a grinning Ani behind me, I can't help but smile.

I am dressed in a simple brown and gold dress, which shimmers whenever it hits the light, a tail of silken feathers flowing from it, looking sleek and shiny. My hair is pulled back from my face, revealing the makeup of gold and black swirls that danced around my eyes, bringing out the mysterious orange in them. My lips are coated in gold dust.

The oddest, and perhaps most beautiful part of the outfit, though, are the wings. They are made of the same flowing material as the tail, but under them is an incredibly elaborate-looking contraption of metal, which Ani assures me will allow me to fly right through the air during the ceremony. The thought of it makes my heart pound.

Rome comes out from the room next to mine, dressed the same, but with more brown in his outfit. His eye makeup looks more like sharp brown feathers ringing his eyes, angular and hawkish. I laugh when I see him.

He looks confused. "What, do I look stupid?"

I grin and shake my head. "I just never pictured you as a bird."

He grins back, eyes crinkling. "Birds of a feather flock together."

After showing Rome and I how to work our mechanical wings, Ani looks amazingly happy, eyes sparkling. "You'll both be magnificent."

But something troubles me. "What if they don't know the story?" I ask. I doubt The Capitol has ever learned about the ancient miners. Or anything else besides how to use a credit card and apply makeup.

She flutters a careless hand in the air. "Oh, I told the announcer to tell it while you go out. Trust me, I thought of everything."

"I sure hope so," says Rome.

The door opens once more, and Katniss strides in, stopping at the sight of us.

Ani looks at her nervously, and I know she's thinking of Katniss' own outfit. "Well, what do you think?"

Katniss smiles, a bit sadly. "Cinna would've loved it. What do you think?" she asks us.

"We love it," we both say.

Katniss nods. "Good." The she takes us by the shoulders and leads us out. "Because we're just about to start."

My stomach does a back flip when I think about the flying part. Could I do it? My brain becomes a jumble as I try to recall Ani's instructions.

Rome's hand clasps mine. "Flick the switch, slant your arms, bank left to turn left, bank right to turn right," he whispers in my air. "And I won't let go."

"You don't know how happy I am that you're here," I say, thinking of what it would be like to go out with that little boy. I would've had to be the strong one, and I am not sure if I can be as brave as Rome. At least, not now.

We climb on top of our carriage, drawn by brown and tan horses, and watch on the screen as District 1 goes out, adorned in jewels and gold, looking like glittering diamonds. The crowd goes wild.

I watch, and try to recognize people from their Reaping. I only see the pregnant girl from District 11, because of her stomach under her costume, and the wide-eyed girl from 4, who is coated in glittering blue scales to resemble a fish. The crowd loves her, but she stays to the back of the chariot, staring at them solemnly.

Then it's our turn. Rome grasps my hand tight, Ani yells at us to smile, and then suddenly we're out in the open, facing a crowd of thousands. My smile is stuck in my throat.

But then they start screaming, and I realize that they actually like us. A smile breaks through and I wave.

Rome looks over at me. "Ready?" he yells.

"Ready," I scream back. Then we flip our switches.

The tiny twin jets in our wings blast off, and we shoot into the air like a cork from a bottle, swirling into the darkened sky, still holding hands.

_I'm doing it. I'm flying!_

I laugh at the absurdity of it all as the crowd goes ballistic, stamping their feet and throwing flowers into our chariot. I hear them shouting our names, _my _name, and I let go of Rome's hand and do a back flip in midair, smiling from ear to ear. The crowd yells my name even louder, and not to be outdone, Rome does a flip of his own and then spirals into the air, higher and higher, until… The crowd screams as he dives straight down, pulling up at the last second and swooping around them, touching their outstretched hands. I do the same.

The beeping of my wings signals that it's time to land, and Rome and I rejoin on the carriage, grabbing hands as we land.

Rome is smiling feverishly, looking happier then I've ever seen him, eyes wild, and I smile back, looking only at him, getting lost in my own giddiness. I'm so happy he is here with me, even if we both are going to die. Even if we won't ever be together again.

And then suddenly he's so close his lips are on my own, crushing them fiercely, and he wraps his arms around me. My heartbeat shoots up, doing double time, and I surprise myself by kissing back, even harder and faster. My mouth opens and I breath in his scent of smoke and wood, and I feel fire around us. We are my combustible carvings, on the cusp of exploding into flame.

The screams subside from my ears, now crazed, so that only Rome is there, holding me tight against him, his face on mine. The fire around us shoots ten feet higher, making my face hot and sweaty.

And suddenly it's over. The chariot stops with a lurch in the circle, in between 13 and 11. Rome lets me go, his eyes wide and mouth open. I'm sure I look the same.

The crowd is screaming our names still, totally ignoring the others. For the kiss or our costumes, I wasn't sure. Perhaps both.

And then the president walks up the steps, her blood-red dress fanning out behind her. She isn't older than fifty, but has had so many surgeries that she lookes much older than she actually was, too fake to be true. No one has told her this. President Mason is the type of woman who wouldn't have hard feelings about poisoning your morning coffee.

"Yes, yes," she says at her podium, flicking her hand in annoyance to signal the crowd to stop chanting. "A pair of lovebirds." She zeroes in on us coldly, her gaze settling on me. I try to look away but I can't. Her ice blue eyes take me in and hold me, making me feel like I'm being held face first in a snowdrift, taking away my breath and leaving me chilled.

Her eyes snap away after what seems like ages. I let out a slow, deep breath. I can feel Rome's gaze on me, but I ignore him. The thought of the kiss, in public, on television, makes my cheeks burn. The fire around us is gone, only the smoke filling my nose. I shift away from him and take a seat, not sure _what_ to look at. I settled for my perfectly manicured fingernails, each painted a glittery bright yellow.

I stay like that for the rest of the ceremony, not even trying to pay attention as President Mason rambles on about the history of the games, how they were once disrupted, but inevitably were started again. The whole time she is looking at Katniss, with a certain hatred that I can only describe as absolute fury. Katniss stares coldly back, never backing down.

Our chariots start to move forward again, leading us back from where we came from. As they come to a halt, I climb up and over the side, not bothering to wait for the Avoxes to take down the stairs. As Rome jumps off after me, following close, I feel like crying. I didn't know what to think about what happened between us, and I'm not sure if I want to.

The girl from District 4, the one covered in scales, is still in her chariot, eating an apple. I'm mesmerized for a second by her glittering, flowing skin. She's so tiny, she could only be twelve at the most.

She catches me staring, adjusts the fin perched on top of her blonde hair and gives me a thumbs up. She whistles at Rome and I as we pass, and I duck my head and avert my gaze. This is not the petrified girl I had watched on my T.V. last night. This version is much more sure of herself.

I wonder if they'd all be like that; More confident now that the shock has worn off. I certainly am not. If anything, I feel more afraid.

_At least I have Rome_, I tell myself. But do I? I have always thought of us as friends, always and forever. I have never considered…

I know I need to talk to him, but I am a coward. As we leave the other tributes behind, walking down the street alone, the words are stuck in my throat, and won't come out.

He doesn't say anything either, but I know he is guessing at my feelings. He sighs as we enter the warm lobby of the Training Center's hotel, but I don't have the courage to say anything until we get to the elevator.

"So," I ask, "Nervous about training?" I hold my breath as I wait for an answer.

For a moment he is quiet, but I can see that pretending it never happened made him angry. His brow furrows and he turns away.

"Come to my room after you get out of this thing." He plucks at his costume, unknowingly removing a feather. I watch it float down to the floor. "We need to talk."

The elevator dings as we get to the top forward, and he immediately strides into the pink room and through the right door, where his prep team eagerly awaits him.

My stomach feels like it has stones in it as I walk heavily toward my own prep team. But when I open the door, only Ani is waiting for me.

She looks like she already knows why I'm angry at myself, but she still asks, "What's wrong, Philla?"

And that's when I burst into tears.

I have cried more times then I would've thought physically possible through the time my name had been drawn on the stage. Probably more than I ever have in my life before The Games.

Ani acts more kind and understanding then I deserve. She sits on the edge of the bathtub and rocks me back and forth, just like my mother would do when I was very small and had nightmares.

"It's okay, Philla, it's okay," she says in my ear. Finally, I manage to stop sobbing. I pull back an inch to see that Ani's beautiful white dress had been entirely ruined by my running makeup. A feeling of shame washes over me.

Ani holds me out arms length so that she can look right into my tear-streaked face.

"You are about to compete in The Hunger Games," she says seriously. "You are brave and strong, and this is not the time to worry about boys." Then she smiles. "So go get 'em."

She helps me peel off my sweaty clothes and wash off all the ridiculous makeup, giving me a pair of blue silk pajamas. I do the buttons on them all the way up, then take the elevator to Rome's room.

It is a lie to say I am not terribly nervous. Rome has a reputation of having a bit of a temper, especially when people have wronged him. Rome isn't the best at forgiving and forgetting, and I certainly knows that neither of us had forgot that kiss. I touch my lips, which feel like they are still tingling just a bit.

Rome and I's rooms are on floor 12, since we lived in District 12. Katniss' room is the only one in between us.

I go to the door marked 314 and knocked tentatively. The door opens almost immediately, as if Rome has been waiting this whole time. I don't doubt he was.

"Hi," I say quietly, taking my seat on his bed. He sits in the chair facing me, as if he doesn't want to get to close.

Everything is quiet for a moment, as if Rome is thinking of what to say. I know that I am definitely at loss for words..

He gives me a long look, and I can tell he's trying not to come off as angry. Finally, he just says: "Why Philly?"

"Why what?" I say back. He is the one that kissed me. It wasn't my fault.

"Why are you acting like this?" He gestures to me, as if there is something I'm doing out of the normal. Now it feels like he's really blaming me, when everything is _his_ fault.

I stand up, face flushing, so that I am looking down on him in the chair. "I should be asking _you_ that question," I shout, waving my arms like a madman. "Why did you kiss me in front of everyone? I didn't ask you to! I didn't want you to!"

He's not trying to keep composed anymore. Quite the opposite, actually. "You know, Philla, I thought you would've gotten it by now, but I guess you're just clueless. I'm sorry I kissed you without asking for your _permission_," he says scornfully. "I didn't know I had to. I thought…" he trails off, seeming too angry for words. He slumps into his chair and puts his face in his hands.

"Are you _crying_?" I say, too shocked to put any anger in it.

He wipes at his eyes. "Yes, Philla. I cry when I get frustrated. You know that. And_ you, _are the most frustrating person I know."

I had never seen Rome cry before, not once. Shouldn't he be ashamed at crying in front of me? Aren't most guys like that?

"Sorry to be frustrating," I say. "Maybe I should just leave."

"Maybe you should."

Cheeks burning, I stride toward the door. I'm almost out when he says, "Philla, I really am sorry. I didn't know you felt like that. It was just the moment…" I turn around as he trails off, but don't move toward him.

"I get it," I whisper back. "Just the moment. Me too." Then I leave without another word, shutting the door behind me.

Katniss is standing outside her door, teacup clutched in one hand, one of my flaming birds in the other. To tired to get mad at an old woman, I just say, "Where did you get that?"

"Ani told me to give it to you. You left it in the Prep Room." She places it into my hand and closes my fingers around it. "You before careful, Philla. You don't want to lose anything important. Especially during The Games."

Before I can say anything back, she walks into her room.

I study the little bird in my palm. It's a mockingjay, one of the first I made. My twelve year old hands had clumsily whittled it, but it still has a delicate sweetness to it. I take out a match and light it on fire, carrying it into my room and letting it light my way through the dark and to my bed.

I climb in and blow it out, too tired to stay awake and dwell on today's activities. In a matter of minutes, I'm asleep, off to a better place where The Games do not exist and I'm just my old self.


	8. Training

**What. The. Heck. I cannot believe how much of this story I wrote. Seriously, I'm only halfway through sifting through all the crap I wrote.**

**Anyways, thanks to nchinchilla for reviewing. The reason there was only three is because my story is all OCs, and written by a 14 year old girl. But thanks tons, it made me really happy. So this gaint chapter's for you.**

*Hauna wakes us up early in the morning to toast, eggs, and every other breakfast food you could imagine, some that I don't even know the name of. As we eat in relative silence - which I suspect was awkward for Hauna - Katniss walks in, fully dressed with a cup of tea clutched in her hands.

She sits down in the empty chair between me and Rome. "We need to talk about training."

I had forgot in the haze of early morning that our training was starting today. I was nervous - they only weapon I have ever handled was a knife, I have ever once made a trap, and know virtually nothing about camping. I need this training desperately, but I'm sure that I'm doomed to fail.

Katniss spoons some egg onto her plate. "I need to know how you'd like to be trained."

Rome looks up from his toast, which he had been gloomily staring at. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"You can either choose to train together, or separately."

I wonder if Rome can feel my eyes following his every move. I want to be inside his head for once, to see what he thinks of me now, without the feathers and paint and cheering crowd. I half-hope that I've reverted back to old Philly, the girl who played with fire and sat in a corner of the town square alone, listening to birds, using her mother's flute to pipe along to their tunes. The other half of me doesn't know what to think.

All is silent. I'm waiting for Rome to answer, but I also know that he's waiting for me. So I make the only move I can think of - the one that might undo what had happened last night.

"Together," I say. In my peripheral vision, I can see Rome's eyes unwillingly flickering to me for a moment. Then he settles back to staring at his toast.

Katniss seems oddly relived. "Perfect."

"Why?" I ask.

Katniss laughs in a twisted sort of way. "I thought you would've figured it out by now, but I suppose you aren't as manipulative as I was back then." Her eyes gleam with sadness for a moment.

"I know," Rome says quietly as he spreads strawberry jam on the toast.

Katniss smiles, but her eyes remain on me, looking tender. I feel like I child being taught the most trivial life lessons.

"I believe it was President Mason who gave you two your new title last night. Lovebirds."

A shock runs through me as I think of those heated moments after the kiss. Of President Mason's chilling stare.

Katniss continues: "Congratulations. You're the Hunger Games' newest item." Her eyes flicker darkly, expression reminiscent as she stirs her tea.

For the first time all morning, Rome looks at me, really looks at me. And I can't help but stare back.

"Only when you want me to," he says, keeping his gaze on my eyes. "If you ever do."

I nod, then look down at my own plate. Hauna looks utterly confused, but Katniss smiles and touches her fingertips together.

"Good. Training starts in thirty minutes. Everyone will be there, so figure out your strategy fast." She leaves the table, whisking off to her room.

I leave the table too, and Rome gives me a small smile as I pass him, bringing with it a flood of relief. Maybe it really would be like last night had never happened.

When I get to my room, fresh clothes - a thin long sleeved shirt and pants, both black - are already lain out for me. I pull my hair into a tight bun, stuff my pockets with matches and two figurines, then head down the steps.

The Training room is the size of District 12's central square, with wooden floors and a ceiling that is strung with ropes and lined with wooden beams. Several stations are posted on the ground, each with a trainer next to them. I am surprised to see that I am not the first to arrive.

A boy with the face of a rat and long, stringy hair is shooting arrows at a moving target, each time hitting it right between the eyes. In the next station, the little girl from four is bent over a series of complicated looking knots, blond hair curtaining her work.

There is only one other person, one that I had not immediately picked out during The Reaping, though I can't see how I'd missed him.

He is tall and lean, with the build of a slinking cat and brown hair falling in his face. His eyes, perfectly almond-shaped and hazel, were concentrated on a target. He wrinkles his freckled nose as he focuses on a target ten feet away. Something is glinting in his hand, and I give a start when he throws it. Less then a second later, a knife is sticking out of the center of the target, still quivering.

All of them are so good. And what am I? A fourteen year old girl with no training in weapons whatsoever, someone who has never hunted or got into a fist fight in her life. The whole thing makes my head spin, so I sit down next to the one-on-one combat station and take out my pocket knife and an unfinished bird. I begin to whittle its head, feeling slightly more relieved as I slowly and methodically skinned off curling pieces of pine.

The man who os overseeing the combat station is watching me with a curious expression. My fingers falter under his gaze, and I give a quiet gasp as the knife slices the skin on my thumb.

He strides over as I put my thumb in my mouth to stop the bleeding. It comes out bright red, and I feel nauseated as a coppery taste fills my mouth.

"You okay there, little lady?" the man asks, leaning down to look at my thumb. He had a sort of twangy accent, definitely not from The Capitol. I vaguely remember hearing a traveler from District 7 talking like this once.

I nod. "I've had worse." I show him my littlest finger, which has the entire tip sliced off from the time when I was thirteen and being extremely careless with my knife. It has long since scarred over, but sometimes I still think I can feel the piercing pain, and hot, wet blood trickling down my finger.

He fishes around in his pockets for a moment, bringing out a bandage. I accept it silently, winding it around my finger.

"You're the Canary Girl, aren't you?" he asks.

I nod.

"Where's your friend?"

He is referring to Rome, of course. My body races back to last night, but I keep my mind firmly in the present. "He's getting changed," I say. "He should be down in a few minutes."

I search for something else to say. Small talk is not my strongest suit. Besides, my thoughts still linger on Rome. I think of the many fights he has been in. "He's pretty good with a weapons," I blurt out suddenly. Then I flush. I am not sure if I should be telling people about that.

The man laughs, and the booming sound reverberates all through the room. "Speaking of it, you don't look too bad either." He gestures to my plump little Robin, which is now a bit bloodstained, but otherwise intact.

I shake my head. "I've never fought before," I say. "I'll be sure to die in the first five minutes." And with rising dread, I realized that this assumption isn't at all false.

He smiles at me, a bit sadly. "Well, we'll just have to fix that. Come on, I'll help you." He starts to walk, but I remain still. "The name's Badge, by the way."

I trail behind him to the station that the handsome brown-haired boy was just at. Knife throwing. My instinct tells me that this is not a good place to start, but as my hand closes around the knife Badge gives me, a surge of confidence rushes through me.

Badge grabs my arm and pulls it back. "Grasp it loosely, then throw it like you're swinging your arm down. Let go in the middle."

I focus my eyes on the target, but it seems so far away. I tell myself it doesn't matter. It's just one try. So with a deep sigh, I flick the knife.

The knife lands on the wall behind the cardboard cutout of a person, right above it's left elbow. It's sunken in deep though, not even shuddering.

"Was that good?" I ask. Badge smiles.

"Great, for a first try. Don't worry, we'll make a champion out of you soon enough."

"Champion?" snears a voice behind us. I turn to see the girl from District 2. She has straight white blonde hair falling down to her waist, an upturned nose, and swirling blue tattoos and gems spiraling all over her body. She looks to be about my age, despite how drastically different we look. I know at once that she's a Career.

"I highly doubt it," she continues in the same haughty, demeaning voice. She crosses her arms over her skinny chest.

I have had more than enough experience dealing with people like this girl. _Brave, _the voice in my head whispers. I draw myself up tall and look into her jade green eyes. "Anything is possible in The Games," I say. To let out my frustration, I fling another knife at the target. Hard.

With a twang , it hits it right in the heart, sinking through the entire dummy. As I walk to pull it out, I can just see the girl staring at me with malice. I return with the knife and try to pretend as if she weren't there, taking a few more turns with the knives. They all hit the dummy in various spots.

"I'm Sapphire, by the way," she finally says, her voice less haughty, more surprised. Friendly even. Just because I can throw a stupid knife.

I don't respond.

She stares for a moment, then turns on her heel, blonde hair whipping, and struts away. She mumbles something as she passes me that almost sounds like, "Be prepared to die."

I hit the dummy for a while longer, until all the people are here, and there is a line behind me. I return the knives to Badge.

He shakes his head and hands me the one I had hit the dummy in the heart with. "Practice in your room," he says. "You'll be a pro in no time."

"But we're not allowed to take anything out of the Training Room," I say, but despite my words, my hand closes on the hilt.

He grins and winks. "You're not taking it, are you? Gave it to you myself." A last smile, and he walks away to observe the other tributes.

Most of the weapon stations are full with people, some looking over-confident and gloating as they handle arrows and maces, while others just look desperate to learn anything.

Rome finally enters, and so I follow him to the knot tying station. The man there looks excited to have people.

We tie our basic knots silently. I get the simple ones right, but nothing too complex. Rome grins over at me and holds up a twisted lump of a failed attempt.

"It's called The Knot of the Hopeless," he says.

I grin back and hold up my own. "Mine sorta looks like a turtle, doesn't it?"

We chat over our clumsy knots until the trainer finally shoos us of. Rome goes to the knife throwing station, and I find myself behind the little girl from District 4 at the Disguise Station.

We take a seat facing each other, looking at our arrays of multicolored paints and twigs and nets. I grab the green paint and start to doodle a pattern of leaves on my arm.

She's quiet, only glancing up occasionally and smiling knowingly as she paints herself dirt brown, plunging her hands into the paint and slathering it onto herself, splattering her clothes and hair. She laughs as it gets all over her cheek.

For lack of better thing to say, I say, "Er…hey?"

She grins in a relaxed sort of way. "Right." She sticks out her hand. "I'm Brinna Mathews. And you're Lovebird Girl."

I take it, not caring about the paint that gets on my hand. I wipe it on my other arm. "Philla, actually."

She shrugs. "Whatever you say."

I watch as she pushes her shirt up and over her stick-like shoulders so that the can get the brown under it. Her arms are thin and bony, the color of an untouched snowfall. She looks so small, like her clothes are swallowing her up.

"How old are you?" I ask, more out of curiosity then anything else. She looks no older than ten.

"Twelve." She grimaces. "Don't look it, do I? You're lucky. You have a good body. Canary Boy couldn't keep his hands off you last night." Her eyes glinted, as if she knew she had hit a nerve and enjoyed seeing me squirm.

I flush, and put some green on my cheeks to cover it. "It's not what it looks like," I say, not even realizing how impossibly cliché the phrase is.

She rolls her eyes, which were now shining through a mask of thick brown paint. "Yeah, yeah. Trust me, you'll get all the boys in the game. That can be your tactic," she says, her eyes feverish. "You can seduce them and then kill them in their sleep. That's what I'd do. And I'd call myself the Black Widow and -"

"Seduce?" I can barely contain my laughter.

She nods seriously. "You need a tactic, don't you? I won't tell you mine. It's pretty good, though." She grins devilishly.

The woman running the station comes over and gives a start when she sees Brinna. "And what are you?" she asks, slightly flustered.

Brinna rolls her eyes and gives her an exasperated look. "A log." She clamps her arms to her side and goes rigid, mouth tight. The woman glares and opens her mouth to say something.

I leave them to their argument and walk away, still smiling a bit.

In my mind, I am already compiling an alliance. Rome, of course, Brinna, and me. But that wasn't enough to outnumber the Careers. I think of the boy I saw throwing knives earlier, and my face flushes.

I go through half of the stations, keeping a list of my strengths and weaknesses. Knive throwing is good, and I can practice that in my room with my new knife. I am hopeless at knots and net-weaving. I can camouflage well, and was okay with arrows. I could climb, but not as well as the smaller tributes.

The one thing that got me is the water. It is the one thing I am absolutely terrified of. Whenever Rome or my parents or anyone suggests we go down to the lake on the outskirts of the District, I always make an excuse to hang back. There is laundry that needed folding. I have to do homework.

I wasn't always this afraid of the water. In fact, when I was little I had loved it. I had learned to swim without assistance at three years old, and spent the long, hot days of summer in the lake. I usually went with Rome or my parents, but by six, I was allowed out by myself. I still remember the day I had nearly drowned.

It was chilly that day, though we were still just easing into fall. The leaves on the trees were still green, and the sun still shining.

I had grabbed a ragged dish towel and a bathing suit, scampering barefoot out the back door and toward the lake. I had not bothered to tell my mother or father where I was going. I still curse myself for being so stupid.

For a while, I had just sat on the edge of the lake, dipping in my toes and munching on the bitter crab apples that had fallen from the tree above me. It was a perfect fall day.

As the sun reached the top of its arch in the sky, I had slipped into my suit and splashed in to the water, which was icy cold, yet refreshing. I dunked my head under and let the cold wash over my face.

Wrapped in the folds of the dishrag I had bought was an old coin. It was about the size of one of my eyes, and glinted when it caught the sunlight. On one summer day, Rome had accidentally dropped the coin in the water. We made a game to see who could find it first. I nearly always won, since I was the better swimmer and could hold my breath longer.

I played it by myself, too. I dropped it below my feet, watching it catch the sunlight for a few seconds until it sank deep into the murky water, invisible.

The lake was only about ten feet deep at its most, but finding the coin was a tiring and lengthy process. I searched for it for a few moments, then came up, panting. I dived back in.

The greenish-brown water was too murky to see in after the first couple of feet down, and by the time you get to the bottom all there is is cold and darkness. It didn't matter much at the time though. I squished my hands into the muddy ground below.

I propelled my self forward, going into a reedy part of the water, where the ground was covered in plants. I dove in, pretending I was a fish as I skirted the ground, looking for the coin.

My hand hit against something cold and metal - the coin. With a triumphant smile, I touched my feet to the ground to rocket up.

But as I pushed off, I only went up a few feet. Something slick and slimy was wrapped around my ankle. I bent down and tried to pull at the weed, but it wouldn't come off. I yanked harder, but it only constricted more tightly.

I was starting to need air, my chest tightening. The darkness closed around me, weeds brushing all over my body, each looking like a spiky tentacle.

I screamed but the only sound that came out was a watery wail. I tried desperately to push up to the surface, to escape the darkness. I opened my mouth to breathe, sucking in water.

Just when I was about to give up, the weed snapped, and is shot forward, part of the weed still laced around my ankle. I emerged, coughing and spluttering, from the water.

The only people I had told about this experience were my mother, who demanded to know why I was pale and shivering the rest of the day, and Rome, because he was my best friend and demanded to know why I wouldn't swim anymore.

Ever since then, whenever I look at a lake or ocean, all I can think is the infinite darkness and struggle to breath. All the memories come back with sharp clarity.

The sun is setting through the skylights on the roof, casting an orange glow on the tributes and our playthings. I chuck my knife hard a target, hitting it right in the head, then begin to walk back up to the elevator.

Rome strides up until he's next to me, grimacing and rubbing his forearms.

"Sore?" I ask.

He nods. "They take a lot out of you, don't they? What did you like the most?"

"Knife-throwing." I feel the knife shift in my back pocket, and for the first moment, I feel guilty about taking it from the Training Room.

"I saw you," he said, grinning. "Who would've thought our little Philly could nail someone in the head with a knife?"

I shove him away playfully, for the first moment feeling like we're completely back to normal.

"What'd you like?" I ask.

He considers it for a moment, eyes glazing over. "I was pretty good with the bow. Got it straight in the heart twice in a row."

I silently think about that for a moment. "At least we aren't completely hopeless," I say quietly. My mind flashes back to the girl from 2 with the blonde hair. She didn't think I would stand a chance.

Rome's handed closes around my tentatively around my wrist. "We're one of the best, on the contrary," he says, his gray eyes flickering with a mischief that I'd often seen on his face when we were younger. I roll my eyes.

"Sure, sure," I say. "And I'm going to become president by the time I'm thirty." But there's a smile in my voice that even I can't hide.

We climb onto the elevator and up to the kitchen, where steaming mugs of a creamy soup are already laid out. I slurp mine down hungrily, not bothering to use a spoon. Rome does the same.

Hauna looks wide-eyed at us as she maneuvers her spoon into the mug. I don't care though. She doesn't understand what it's like to be truly hungry. She excuses herself early, looking sick.

Katniss spoons her soup into her mouth daintily. She is dressed in her frayed white robe, her hair still tied back in her severe braid. She looks us over.

"I watched you," she says finally. "A special screening for mentors."

We say nothing, just gulp more soup.

"I think you both have potential," she continues, "but definitely not Cornucopia material."

"Cornucopia?" I ask. I knew what it was, of course, but I didn't have a clue what she meant by "material".

"I don't think you're experienced enough to try to grab anything from the Cornucopia. You have talent, but its only just developing. You're going to have to run for it."

There were two options when you started the Games. One was to battle your chances at the Cornucopia, risking death. But if you came out with supplies, you were much better off than those without.

Option two was to just run like crazy in the opposite direction, and try not to get killed in the process. You're stuck with nothing if you do that, though. I bristled a bit at the finality in which Katniss said this.

"We could take on the Careers," Rome growls, looking a bit angry at being called weak. He flexed his muscles unknowingly, yet still giving off a menacing aura. I didn't doubt him one bit. He was stronger than most of the boys in Twelve.

Katniss flicks her hand in the air, her expression one of annoyance. "That attitude will get you killed," she says with anger in her eyes. "Never assume anything except the worst."

_Never assume anything except the worst_. The words echo darkly in my mind. Rome dead. Me dead. Leaving our families behind to cope.

I swallow and snap myself out of it. My hands twitch toward my pocket, but I don't draw out my carving tool. I need to learn to survive without it.

Rome seems to have accepted the idea more than me. He nods grimly. "Fine."

Katniss chuckles and shakes her head. "Private session tomorrow. Then Interview," she says as if nothing happened.

"Are our outfits ready?" I ask. I don't think that anything could top off our Chariot costumes.

"Yes," Katniss says. "But that's not the important thing. We need to discuss your tactics, and practice after training tomorrow." She looked at the door, as if checking to make sure no one was hiding behind it. "And just between you and me, I don't think Hauna will be able to handle it. I'll be practicing with you by yourself."

We both nod, and I try to think up a tactic. Over the years, I had seen sweet, timid, strong, sexy, energetic, dark, and so many others that it would take too much time to count. I couldn't think of a single one for me, though.

"Don't fret about it now, though," Katniss says, as if she could read my mind. "For now, take it a step at a time." She's silent, and we take it as our queue to leave.

We start to get up when she says, "But don't take Interviews lightly. They'll be the thing that makes the audience love or hate you."

We wait for more, but her eyes have gone misty as they so often do, and she rocks slowly in her seat. We leave without saying a word. "You're nervous." Rome says. It's not a question. He can always tell.

"I don't know what to do at the interview," I say.

He looks at me thoughtfully, studying me. We continue walking for a minute.

"Just be yourself, Philly," he says finally, just as we reach our rooms. He opens his door. "That'll be enough."

He enters his room, so I do the same. I climb into my bed without taking my clothes off, closing my eyes and burrowing into the overly-plump covers.

I don't think being myself would be hard, but I also didn't think it would be enough at all. I am too boring, too shy. I am not the flying canary girl I had been in my Chariot costume, but a pale ghost of her.

I try not try not to dwell on it, like Katniss said. That would do no good. I just need to focus.

I feel for the knife, still snug in my pocket. I take it out and throw it at the door, where it stuck with a resounding twang. No, I definitely shouldn't be worrying about that.

Besides, the worst is yet to come.


	9. Fire and Knives

**Second to last full chapter I wrote. I don't really like this chapter at all, but whatever. Hope you enjoy! I might actually write more, if only because I enjoyed this so much. Thanks Anon reviewer for reading eight chapters of crap and reviewing!**

* The next morning, Rome and I pace nervously in a waiting room with the other tributes. No one is talking. Judging by the many sick expressions I see, they are just as nervous as I am.

I try to think of what I'll do during my private session. I often mess up when I'm nervous, and my stomach churns when I think about messing up in front of them. Maybe I'd be so off, I'd hit one of them with a knife.

Katniss has said to just do my best and relax. But I am not one for relaxing, and I know Rome isn't either. He has told me that he will probably do something with arrows, then toss around some things. He looed nervous as he had said this, but not half as scared as me.

What if I hurt _myself_? I'd get a one for sure, maybe a two at best. The Gamemakers would laugh at me.

I sit down next to Brinna. We are only on District 3, and she will be next. Her eyes are closed and she's smiling.

"What are you thinking about?" I whisper. I can't imagine how she could be so relaxed.

"The Gamemakers in their underwear. And making nets. And sunny days in the water," she whispers back, eyes still closed. "If you think of happy things, the pressure melts away."

I lean back in my own chair and close my eyes. I try to think of the Gamemakers in their underwear, but I come up with nothing. Why am I so nervous? I wish I was like Brinna.

Her name is called, and she strides into the Training Room confidently.

And it goes on like that. 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. Then 12. My stomach plummets as they call my name.

The Gamemakers are all looking worn out and tired, eating from the buffet in front of them. A few of them smile when they see me, giving nods of approval.

I try my best to return their smiles, then go over to a table where hundreds of weapons are laid out. Maces, Arrows, Knives. I shy away from the complicated ones, going for the knives. I choose the shortest ones,

As I pick it up, my hands knocks something to the floor. I blush, and reach down to pick it up.

It's lighter fluid.

A spark of inspiration hits me.

I smile, really smile, for the first time today. Then I scour the table, coming up with a box matches.

The Gamemakers look up at me curiously, and I try my best to ignore them. I unscrew the cap off the bottle of lighter fluid and splash it on them and my knives. I strike a match and light the knives on fire.

Almost all the Gamemakers have their eyes trained on me now. One of them is transfixed, staring at me in mid chew. Roasted potatoes fall out of his mouth.

I feel almost crazy with excitement now, and I laugh manically, picking up a flaming knive. The hilt remains on fire, and my fingers become a little singed. I aim, and throw the knife as hard as I can.

It flips through the air and lands straight in the dummy's forehead. It immediately catches fire, the whole thing going up in flames.

I repeat it, again and again hitting the dummies hard, until they are all burning, looking like people roasting at the stake.

I watch them for a moment longer, until the Gamemakers tell me I can leave. I nod, say goodbye, then walk out the door, smile still plastered to my face.

Rome looks at me curiously, but I only shake my head. The smell of smoke follows me all the way back to the twelfth floor, where Katniss is waiting for me.

"How did it go?" she asks, a hopeful sort of tone in her voice.

I'm still smiling, not really believing what I just. "I think it went great."

She nods. "Good. Excellent."

I skip all the way to the dining table, where my bravado doesn't wear off until Rome comes back. By that time, I feel a bit more calm.

He looks like he's been waiting to ask me what happened the whole time. I tell him about the burning dummies, and he cracks a smile.

"I was wondering why there were smoking piles of ash where they had been," he says.

"What did you do for them?" I ask.

"Mostly shot things. I think they were impressed." He looks a bit like he's dreading his score, though.

"Anything else?" I raise an eyebrow.

He chuckled. "An arrow bounced of the wall and whacked a Gamemaker in his face. It didn't hurt him or anything. He said it was okay."

I laugh too, and we both bolt down our dinner, ravenous after the day. Then we all crowd around the T.V., anxiously awaiting our scores.

Most of the tributes get fours and fives. Brinna somehow wrangles an eight. The brown haired boy with the freckles, the Career, gets a ten. The other careers all score eights and nines.

Rome an I hold our breathes as District Twelve comes up. Rome's is first. A seven. Our breathes woosh out in amazement.

Then it's my picture flashing across the screen. I wait for the number.

An eight. The number is flaming, a knife stuck in the bottom loop. Rome laughs at that. We high five.

Katniss looks impressed. "Good. I'm sure you have some attention on you now." She smiles in a satisfactory way, and leans back into her chair.

We celebrate with sweetened milk with cocoa mixed in, until, full and sleepy, we stumble off to bed. For the first time since my name was drawn, I feel hope.


	10. Tactics

**Hello there. Thanks Reader for reviewing. Philla is certainly not Katniss, and I'm definitely going to make it much different in the Arena. I also want the ending to be different too! That is, if I continue. Anyways, thanks for the review. It means a lot when I get a review on this story, since it is so…not popular.**

**Last full chapter…boo…but I might continue. Anyways, enjoy. **

* "Stop fidgeting, Philla," Katniss commands as I cross and uncross my legs for the umpteenth time. I try my best to sit still, Rome snickering as I nearly fall out of my chair.

"You're hopeless," says Katniss, grimacing.

"I'm sorry."

She rolls her eyes and flips her braid over her shoulder, looking uncannily like a teenage girl. "You need to be separated. We'll never get any work done with you two distracting each other. We're going to practice both posture and questions."

My legs cross again on there own accord, and I twitch nervously. The question part I have been dreading ever since I got here. Sure, posture and smiles were one thing, but the actual questions were something I'm not sure I am prepared for.

"Ms. Hopeless first," sighs Katniss after shooting me a look. "Rome after. We'll alternate." She looks at Rome until he realizes that he should leave. He gets up and walks out the door. I feel even more nervous, being alone with Katniss.

She walks over to a dresser and pulls out a flowing blue gown and bright red heels. "Posture is important," she says. "You must carry yourself with pride."

I nod. Posture has never been much of a problem for me, seeing as my mother would never let me near the dinner table until I had learned to sit up straight, properly hold my utensils, and set the table. I only have just started slipping out of the routine, after she got too depressed to care. I miss her bossiness, in an odd way.

I can walk in the heels too, to my own surprise. I have never been a klutz, but I have also never worn heels before. I only wobble twice during the session. I walk to and from the chair for the last time, then Katniss tells me to sit down.

Katniss shuffles her neatly stacked cards in front of her, flipping through them til she pauses at a question.

"This is a good one. What do you consider your greatest weakness in the games?" Her eyes glint and her mouth hovers on a near grin.

I only have to think for a moment. "Well, I don't really like water mu-"

"Wrong," says Katniss cheerfully.

I look at her disbelievingly. "Wrong? How can it be wrong? It's an opinion!"

Katniss cackles. "An opinion that's giving the other tributes more information then they need. Try again."

I think harder. "I don't know?" It comes out with a question mark at the end.

She nods. "Be more sincere, though. And loveable. Which brings me to tactic." She looks at her cards for a moment. "Try…being bubbly."

I nod and swallow, folding my hands on my lap. "Bubbly."

She reads off her card. "What do you miss most about home?"

I think of Kona and my parents at home, trying there best to deal with me being gone. I think of the tears my mom has cried. The feelings my dad tries to suppress. I tell myself it is all my imagination, but if feels so real. My answer is stuck in my throat.

"Family," I whisper, forgetting to sound energetic and upbeat. I wipe a tear from my eye and stifle a sob. I can not be bubbly. I'm hopeless.

Katniss seems to know this too, due to her increased annoyance. She sighs heavily. "Okay. Try to be sexy."

I nod firmly, though I have never tried to be provocative in any way my entire life. I decide it's worth a try though.

Katniss selects a card. "What was your reaction to Rome kissing you during the opening ceremonies?"

"What? That's not on the card!" I yell, peering over the top to make sure. The card she is holding is blank. I rise up angrily, face flushing. "What are you doing?"

She rises too, a few inches higher then me. "I'm being realistic!" she yells back. "You_ must_ make them like you, or you will have _no _sponsors, _no _fans,and _no_ chance! Now do what I say!"

I feel too shocked to move, yet my feet somehow slip out from under me and I land in the cushy seat. Katniss sits back down too, chest heaving, her face still red with anger.

"Sexy," she orders.

I am too shocked for a moment to say anything, then try my best. "I can't say I didn't like it," I say in a rougher voice, trying to look through my eyelashes. I give a half smile that feels more like a snarl.

"No," says Katniss, not even dwelling on it. "Calm."

And it goes on like that for a straight hour, personality after personality, and after I feel so tired that the next time I'm going to have to answer something I'll fall asleep instead. I rest my head on the back of the chair.

Katniss is still looking as bossy as ever. "Vulnerable," she orders. We are still on the same question. She looks at me expectantly.

I try to really think about that night. The smoke, the fire, the feeling of his lips on mine. Pleasure seeps through me, and I blush bright red. "I thought…."-I blush a darker shade. "That it was amazing!" The last part rushes out in a quick breath, stringing all the words together into a jumble. I duck my head to hide my smile.

Katniss jumps up, and for a second, I think she is angry again. But then she screams, "Yes! That's it!" She smiles, looking breathless with joy. "Thank goodness."

I can't help but grin, too. "So just act like I'm sort of embarrassed all the time?"

She shakes her head, but she is still smiling. "Act like everything is unbelievable. Just be honest, be cute, and blush a lot." She rolls her eyes. "In other words, be you when you're not angry."

I nod and stand up. "Can I go?" I ask.

She shoos me off, still happy. "Yes, yes! Go send for Rome!"

Her happiness is infectious, and I skip out the door. Rome is sitting in the dining room, helping himself to some roasted chicken.

"Done?" he asks. I nod. "Finally!" He stands up, chicken leg still in his hand.

"Katniss wants you now," I say.

He grins, then puts the chicken leg down. "Good. What's your tactic, Philly? Or is it confidential?" He raises an eyebrow.

I blush. "Um…vulnerable."

He laughs. "So, basically, you're yourself." He claps his hand together. "I'll try to be as complimentary as possible. Be back soon." And he rushes off to the door, looking almost excited.

I'm tempted to listen in, for an odd moment. To press my ear to the door and strain my hearing till I could tell what they were talking about. Would Katniss ask him the same questions?

I shake the thoughts out of my head and polish off Rome's half-eaten chicken leg for him. Then I sit down to wait.

It is less then thirty minutes when he comes striding out, grinning from ear to ear. Katniss follows him, shaking her head in a disbelieving sort of way.

"What are you doing?" I ask curiously.

He smiles an even wider, cockier grin. "The side of me you don't like."

"Angry?" I ask.

"Funny. Sexy. Slick." He laughs at the look on my face, then shrugs. "Katniss said it'll work."

Katniss smiles. "They'll love both of you, if all goes well."

Under the table, I cross my fingers and wish for the same thing.


End file.
